


a cup of coffee and a smile

by orphan_account



Series: shitty coffee really brings people together [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, F/F, this is dumb and i apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxy's pretty leery of Jane's plan to get her addicted to coffee instead of alcohol; of course, that was before she met the barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a cup of coffee and a smile

“Jane...”  
  
Jane's hand tightens around yours and she looks back at you imploringly. Her eyes are huge and ridiculously blue, and honestly, how is that even fair? She sucks in a breath that makes her lower lip wobble then says, very quietly and with a wobbly voice,  
  
“Please, Rox? For me?”  
  
And yeah, no way you're gonna be able to say no to that without feeling like a piece of shit for the rest of your life. So you sigh and nod, and her entire face lights up with the force of her grin. She tugs you along the street, toward the coffee shop that she insists will be better than the last three she's dragged you to—you're not sure when she'll realize that you just don't like coffee and going to a different cafe isn't going to change that, but for now you'll humor her because after everything you put her through, you owe her.  
  
The coffee shop doesn't look much different from the others. It's a hole in the wall, the only indication of its existence being the chalkboard sign sitting obtrusively in the middle of the sidewalk. Swooping, ridiculously flourished script informs you that the special today is a spiced hazelnut latte, and you're considering buying one just because that handwriting is impressive, but that thoughts chased from your mind when Jane hauls you inside and you're overwhelmed with the sickeningly bitter smell of burnt coffee. Honestly, she could at least try to get you addicted to _good coffee,_ but you digress.  
  
“This is my favorite shop,” Jane's explaining, “I'm taking you here last because I wanted you to try other places before I forced my own tastes down your throat. But I'm sure you'll enjoy this one.”  
  
Your face must betray your dislike of the smell because she snorts when she tosses a glance back at you, “Don't be a baby.”  
  
“I don't like coffee, Janey,” You insist one last time, one last effort at getting out of one more crappy cup of coffee.  
  
 _“Baby,”_ she sing-songs back and you scowl petulantly.  
  
“It tastes like watered down dirt— _weird._ ”  
  
Jane stops—you're halfway to the counter, and the boy working the register looks more than a little unimpressed—but Jane stops and inhales sharply. Your chest sinks because you realize that you might've stepped over a line, and your worries are validated when she turns and says,  
  
“Because vodka tastes _so_ much better.”  
  
And yeah, ouch. You wince outwardly because, jeez, talk about a low blow, but you know you deserve it. You know that Jane's just out here spending her Saturday dragging your whiney ass to every coffee shop in town because she'd rather you be sober and grumpy than drunk and stupid and you know that she probably should've ditched you years ago but she's still here, still helping, and you definitely don't deserve her. You're about to say sorry when Jane's shoulders sag and she looks at you kind of hopelessly and you let the subject drop.  
  
You're both pretty tired of hearing each other apologize.  
  
She squeezes your hand softly and you offer a pretty pathetic smile and hope it passes as reassuring and she leads you to the counter. The boy that had been leaning there earlier is now disappearing into the back room, informing Jane that, _I'm off work so you can take your complex order and suck it._  
  
“Customer service,” You mumble, “Lovin' this place already.”  
  
Jane elbows you playfully as the pair of you wait for the replacement to emerge, and when she does you kind of wish that you'd bothered to worry about your appearance before you left the apartment this morning.  
She's a tall thing, thin with jet black skin stretched tight over prominent bones. Her hair, in stark contrast, is white as snow and sitting in unruly curls barely contained by the green bandana she's got tied around her head. She stumbles a little, obviously flustered, and apologizes for the wait and you're really glad that Jane's there to assure this angel that it's alright because you can't even manage a coherent thought.  
  
“You're fine, Callie,” Jane says with a smile, and, oh, she has a name, that's cool.  
  
Callie—what a cute name, a perfect name for a perfect girl—smiles wide and a little bashful, flashing crooked, pearly white teeth and your heart is having a few issues with beating steadily right now.  
  
“Thanks, Jane,” She says and her voice is sort of deep and lilted with an accent that you can't place and oh god, you're actually going to faint, “So what will you being having this afternoon?”  
  
Her eyes slide over to you and they're so dark that her pupils melt into her irises and you think your face might actually be on fire when you splutter out something that's vaguely reminiscent of the way Rose used to gurgle when she was an infant.  
  
Callie laughs a little, “Sorry, I didn't catch that.”  
  
Jane's shooting you knowing looks and you're pretty sure you're going to spontaneously combust.  
  
“I, uh-” Your voice cracks and you pinch your arm through the fabric of your sweater, “A sp'ced h'zlenut latte?”  
  
“Spiced hazelnut?” She asks, perking up a bit, her smile growing wider and more genuine, “That's my favorite! How about for you, Jane?”  
  
You make an attempt at burrowing into your sweater as Jane rattles off her order and pays for the drinks. She has to catch you by the arm and lead you to the pick up counter and she's grinning like a fuckin' loon.  
  
“You think she's cute,” Jane whispers conspiratorially.  
  
“You _don't?_ God she's _perfect,”_ you groan and bump Jane's shoulder with your forehead, “You could've warned me!”  
  
“And miss out on your flustered blubbering? Never.”  
  
Jane giggles when you headbutt her and you have to admit that it's nice to hear her laugh even when it's at your expense. You continue talking with her in hushed tones and sneaking glances at the goddess currently making you a latte, and maybe it's just wishful thinking but you think you catch her eye once or twice. Which means she was totally looking at you, too.  
  
By the time your coffee has arrived, you've planned out a whole speech that you can give in order to have an excuse to give her your number, but when she slides the coffee across the counter and smiles, your stomach drops and your heart beats violently against your ribcage, and you end up mumbling what you hope is a thank you before fleeing the shop as fast as your short little legs can take you. The autumn air hits you like a block of ice to the face, but you don't mind since your cheeks are _literally on fire._  
  
You don't dare glance back in case Callie is staring at you like you're crazy (which you are, to be honest) because you can't handle that on top of everything else. So you wait for Jane to join you as you stare very fixedly at the swooping letters sprawling across the side of your cup, identifying its contents. She's even got pretty handwriting.  
  
The door chimes and you jump as Jane swoops out, still grinning madly. She loops her arm through yours and snickers.  
  
“You suck.”  
  
You frown, “Not fair. I was caught off guard by her perfection.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Jane nudges your hip with hers and offers a quieter smile and you return it as you walk back toward your apartment. A few blocks away, your phone buzzes, and when you stop to fish it out of your pocket, Jane releases your arm and continues to the crosswalk to wait. That should've made you suspicious, but you weren't exactly thinking straight.  
  
You slide your phone unlocked and eye the text message from an unknown number. Clicking on it, your face flushes immediately, all the way up to your ears and you can vaguely hear Jane cackling, but you're too focused on the picture to notice.  
  
It's a snapshot of Callie, smiling sweetly at the camera phone she's holding at arms length, with the caption, _“Come back soon! ^u~”_  
  
There's a brief moment of breathlessness, then you laugh. You throw your head back and laugh and maybe it's a little hysterical, but after everything you've been through, you think you deserve it. When your laughter abates, you catch Jane's eye and she winks at you and you're tempted to strangle her and to kiss her all over because she is a perfect angel.  
  
You shoot a quick text back to Callie— _“no worries about that ;)”_ —and take a victorious swig of your coffee. Which tastes even worse than the cheap vodka you'd had at Jake's fifteenth birthday party.  
Startled, you stoop over and spew it back out again, choking on the taste and, this time, completely aware of Jane howling with laughter. Your tongue feels like lead—like really shitty tasting lead—and you laugh again.  
  
So Callie can't actually make coffee.  
  
You think you can forgive her.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very silly drabble for some very silly girls


End file.
